And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. “You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” - Haruki Murakami
As I sit to write this piece, a few weeks after the 2021 Carolina Cup, I am still in awe of all that unraveled during race week in the normally warm, quiet town of Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina. This year’s 10th anniversary of the iconic Carolina Cup SUP event perfectly aligned with a weather system that was, simply put, the perfect storm.
Even though the weather reports were alarming, there I was, an amateur lover of SUP and an aspiring weekend warrior, making my way to the start line of the Money Island race despite everything pointing to the battle ahead. I confess that inside me I was wishing the race would just be canceled. Then I would not have to make the decision whether to race or not. “They will definitely cancel it,.. surely between the 35 knot gusts, rain, king tide and low temperatures… ”. My brain raced as my body was busy loading my board, unloading it, strapping my leash, and off goes the starting gun.
The next hour or so was blocking and tacking, a fire-drill of sorts at every corner. First the upwind section: stay low, forceful and deliberate with your strokes, I whispered. Ed Sheeran was playing somewhere in the corner of my head and it was strangely therapeutic. I got to the bridge but there was no room to paddle beneath it due to the massive tides we were experiencing on this new moon weekend in Wrightsville. How does prone paddling work again? Many miscalculations later left me soaked and had me ninja-towing my board under said bridge. I somehow arrived on the other side and remounted. Then for what seemed like an endless stretch, I inched through (no pun intended with the inches) the side wind, chop, and some alien seaweed mass invasion. The blissful turn into the downwind section was the happiest moment. Ed Sheeran started singing again and I along with him. I registered the thought that this was really happening.
Mother Nature had more tricks up her sleeve though. As I turned into the inlet at the 4.8 - 5.0 mile mark, I faced the King Tide himself, head-on. For those unfamiliar with the term, the king tide is the highest high tide, effectively a high tide on steroids. I paddled ferociously to no avail and then realized the winds had pushed me perfectly into the center of the inlet where the King was most powerful. I remembered the advice to “hug the shore” so I frantically tried to get to either of the shores. Thirty minutes later of fierce paddling, when I had made absolutely no headway and was stuck in my same spot and on the brink of hypothermia, I called the “time of death” on my race. If this sounds somber, it really was. This was no happy ending; the music stopped playing.
Later, after some reflection, I began laying down the powerful lessons I experienced through this event. I realized how much I had been coached by this race. It reached beyond anything I can cook up alone in the most vigilant of training programs. The technical or training improvements I needed to make were somewhat obvious, but it was the lessons about myself, community and this special SUP passion that we share that made all the difference. I would like to share a few personal musings in the hopes of adding some more fuel to your stoke fire.
For those who know me well, I am not the emotional type and generally am fairly even keeled. Yet, at the end of this race, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably and accepting consolation hugs from kind strangers who extended an arm. Rational minds would say it’s just a race and the conditions were really tough. Yet I learned that I was not rational about SUP. There is a dose of crazy about SUP inside me that was really upset about not finishing and it is not for the medal or the time stamp, but just for the love of the sport. It is that same dose of crazy about SUP that makes me laugh uncontrollably at the end of a wet training paddle in wind or swell. I realize I am fortunate to have this insatiable desire to push my own envelope with this sport and experience the peaks and troughs it offers. Certainly, my days (and I) would be much less fun without it.
Not long after I put on a change of clothes and warmed up, I took a look at the race course again, which had emptied out. I had this whole body urge to go and try it once more. I wanted to jump back in and get my 6.5 miles worth of paddle sweat in that instant, in those conditions. Of course it was just an urge and lunch was waiting, so I chuckled and went on my way. Only later that day did I understand what that feeling was. I had caught the race bug.
For those of you who have competed in more races than you can count, perhaps you can remember that one race that changed everything for you. The one after which you subtly reorganized your life around the prospective race calendar, but you had to manage it carefully lest your Aunt Jane find out that you chose yet another race over family bridge night. I marked my calendar for the 2022 Carolina Cup race that night.
At the lunch table, glasses raised for a toast and the conversation flowing, my body started to finally relax. This was the celebration of the event against all odds. As I looked at our table, as if from 10ft above, I saw the celebration of friends. The friends who carry you through. The ones who booked a flight to come cheer you on when you first floated the race idea.. The ones who were your training backbone. The ones who were willing to discuss the forecast and race details repeatedly throughout the grueling 13 hour car ride to get there. The ones who remembered your paddle when you forgot it in the race morning rush. The ones who tracked you throughout the race course and sensed when it was time to come to the rescue. The ones who cheer you on no matter what, and to sum it all up, the ones who make it all a ton of heartfelt fun. I humbly raised my glass to have experienced all that.
Thank you, Carolina Cup, and thank you, Wrightsville Beach, for taking us passionate paddle enthusiasts in and speaking the language of water. Importantly, a very special thank you to the Coast Guard and to all the volunteers who were out there watching out for the racers. To the warm and lovely gentleman who beckoned me over, took my board when I finally called it quits, and blasted the heat in his car till I came back to my senses, your kindness lives on with me.
